


Other Places, Other Times

by dogpoet



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Anniversaries, Costumes, Established Relationship, Gay Rights, Grief/Mourning, Hathaway's brain, Historical Dress, History, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogpoet/pseuds/dogpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s that time of year again, and Lewis thinks on past and future. Little does he know, Hathaway is preoccupied with the same thing, only in different form.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Other Places, Other Times

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luthien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/gifts).



> This isn’t officially in the Punctuation Series, but it takes place in that universe. You do not need to have read the rest of the series for this to make sense.
> 
> Beta by [thirdbird](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thirdbird) and [small_hobbit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/small_hobbit).

It was raining, and it had been ghostly dark outside since Lewis and Hathaway had left work. The leaves were gone from the trees, and the holidays hadn’t yet come. Lewis always felt a damper on his mood around now. He’d heard that could happen every year at the time you’d experienced a loss. He’d felt it when his mam died, too, every June. That had slowly dissipated to be replaced by melancholy in the weeks surrounding December 19. 

The holidays weren’t the same without her.

Lewis stared at the darkness outside the bathroom window from his perch on the edge of the basin. Standing in front of Lewis, Hathaway dabbed spirit gum onto a fake moustache. 

“Stay still,” Hathaway said, breaking Lewis’s reverie. With patient fingers, he pressed the moustache to Lewis’s upper lip, then stood back to assess his handiwork.

Lewis turned round to face the mirror. He hardly recognised himself. In addition to the moustache, he wore a white shirt with a tweed waistcoat and tweed trousers. He hadn’t yet put on the jacket, which would complete the costume along with the walking stick and hat.

Hathaway wasn’t dressed yet — he wore light blue boxers and a white t-shirt — but his costume was an Inverness cape and a deerstalker cap: Holmes to Lewis’s Watson.

From behind Lewis, Hathaway looked at their faces in the mirror, wrapping his arms round Lewis’s middle. “They would have gone to gaol if they’d been caught together,” he said.

Lewis laid his hands on Hathaway’s. “Who?”

“Holmes and Watson.”

Lewis puzzled out James’s meaning. “What? You think they were having rumpy-pumpy?” He turned to face James. 

James had been acting oddly ever since they’d got their costumes. Or maybe it was longer than that. They’d been going through a rough patch, lately. James had been moody and needy, and Lewis hadn’t exactly been cheerful.

They’d been together six months now. 

“They were more than friends, I should think.” James clung to Lewis, pressing kisses to his neck, then his mouth. “Let’s stay home.”

Lewis felt his heart rate increase, responding to James’s kisses. He stroked James’s back, soothing. “We’ve been planning on going, and you got us our costumes.”

“I know.” 

They stood there, holding one another. There were days when Lewis had no idea what was going on in Hathaway’s brain. He was forced to make mad, intuitive leaps because plain detective work didn’t get him anywhere. He waited, hoping James would say more, but he didn’t.

“And what did you have in mind instead of the party?” Lewis asked.

Lewis could feel James shaking his head. He was like a child sometimes.

“I’m being stupid.” James straightened up.

Lewis smiled at him indulgently. “Go on, get dressed, or we’ll never get there,” he said as gently as he could. 

James kissed Lewis briefly before turning to exit the bathroom. The moment he’d left, a gust of wind dashed rain against the bathroom window. Lewis leant over the bath to look out into the darkness, at his lined face overlaid on the trees outside.

This would be his first Christmas with Hathaway when they weren’t at work. They were planning to go up to see Lyn, Alex, and baby Matthew, whom James hadn’t met yet. It would be strange without Val — it always was. Lewis missed her. He missed her terribly. Less now, but still. 

Lewis turned away from the window and shut off the light as he left the bathroom.

“Holmes was the boss in the stories,” James commented from beside the wardrobe as Lewis entered the room. 

Lewis crossed over to the wardrobe to find his jacket. “Is that what you think? He’d be six feet under without Watson, remember that.”

“As would I, without you.”

Lewis’s hired tweed wasn’t, strictly speaking, historically accurate, as Hathaway had informed him, but it would do. He removed it from its hanger and put it on, then he found his shoes. He watched James get dressed, deeply conscious of his presence, solid and warm, lighting the room.

James donned one of his own black suits, then covered it up with the Inverness cape. He put on the deerstalker cap and gazed at Lewis expectantly. 

“You look the part,” Lewis said. The costume suited Hathaway’s tall, lean frame, though his face lacked the severity Lewis imagined the fictional Holmes would have. Lewis was glad of that. He liked the softness of James’s mouth, the little furrow between his brows, his vulnerable chin, and hopeful eyes.

James picked up the finishing touch, a pipe that was resting on top of the chest of drawers. He stuffed it in his pocket. Lewis gathered up the walking stick and put on the bowler hat. Together, he and James headed down the hallway to the living room.

The moment they came round to the front of the sofa where their grey cat, Emmy, had been napping, she woke. She startled when she caught sight of them, and then scrambled to hide below. She stared out, pupils wide and dark.

“It’s our hats,” Lewis said. “Must be.”

James removed his, then crouched to coo at Emmy. “It’s just me.” 

She stared at him, unblinking. Animals were funny. Change one thing about yourself, and they didn’t recognise you. 

“You have to take yours off, too,” James said, looking over his shoulder. 

“Or we could go to the party,” Lewis retorted. “Come on. She’s fine.” 

They stopped at the door to put on their scarves. It had been blustery and cold the last few days.

James put his arms round Lewis and kissed him delicately, careful of the glued-on moustache. He inched towards Lewis’s ear, taking the lobe into his mouth.

“What’s got into you? You’re very grabby tonight.” Lewis returned the embrace, sliding his hands beneath the cape. He breathed James’s scent. “My octopus,” he murmured.

“You’re very grabbable.”

“Don’t be silly.” Lewis reached for the doorknob.

*

When he got out of the car, Lewis could hear the noise emanating from Laura’s house. Ah, medical students. He and Hathaway exchanged a glance. Well, it was her birthday. Needs must.

“This will come in handy,” James said, gesturing with the bottles of Newkie Brown they’d brought.

“Yeah,” Lewis agreed. 

They slammed their doors and headed towards the house. Inside, they found Laura, flushed and laughing, dressed in scrubs, a stethoscope draped round her neck. She leant to give Lewis a peck on the cheek when he wished her happy birthday. 

“Who have we here?” she shouted over the din. “Oh!” She caught sight of Hathaway, then she began to giggle uncontrollably. “Brilliant! That’s brilliant!”

“Didn’t you want to be something different to what you are every day?” Lewis asked, eyeing Laura’s scrubs.

“I’m a doctor of the living tonight,” she said. “Anyway, you should talk! Whose idea was it?”

Lewis tilted his head towards Hathaway. “His.”

“I always knew there was something going on between those two. Come on. Come meet some friends.” 

They followed Laura into the crowded living room, where a table had been set up to hold more alcohol than you could shake a stick at. There were crisps and crackers and cheese, too, but it was clear that food was not the focus of the party. Lewis added their beer to the collection. 

“Inspector Robbie Lewis, this is Catherine Snow. She’s off to be a pathologist for Cambridgeshire Constabulary,” Laura said, introducing a young, dark-haired woman, who looked far too cheerful to be slicing up dead bodies. She was dressed as a rabbit. A very tipsy rabbit.

Lewis shook Catherine’s hand. “Robbie. And this is James.”

“James. Hello. Are you…?”

“He’s my sergeant,” Lewis responded before Hathaway could open his mouth.

“I was going to say Sherlock Holmes, but it’s obvious you are,” She said to James. She turned to Lewis, raising her eyebrows. “You bring your sergeant to parties, Dr Watson?” 

Lewis was grateful Catherine was drunk. “We’re mates,” he supplied.

James was looking off in the other direction, as if he’d rather be elsewhere. He reached for one of the bottles Lewis had just set down.

“When do you leave for the new job?” Lewis asked.

“I start in the new year. Not much of a change, is it? From Oxford, I mean.”

“James might beg to differ,” Lewis turned to see what Hathaway had to say on the matter, but he had wandered off, and Lewis couldn’t see him. 

Lewis chatted with Catherine and Laura for a while longer. Catherine was a sweet lass. She’d need that temperament to endure the garrotted and bludgeoned and drowned. Lewis was always surprised at the way Laura maintained her disposition despite the work she did. Had a lot going on outside work; that had to help. He’d certainly been more cheerful when he’d had Val, and now that he had James.

Speaking of his smart-arse detective… Lewis scanned the room again. Hathaway was still nowhere in sight. 

Lewis suspected he knew why James had disappeared. A bit tetchy about being introduced as Lewis’s sergeant when they weren’t at work. Lewis sighed. James needed… He needed signs that Lewis loved him. He was insecure. The result of his childhood, maybe. 

Before Lewis could go in search of James, a drunk partygoer stopped him to ask who he was, and he had to explain that his Sherlock had gone off somewhere.

Two ales later, Lewis was beginning to get a headache from the noise. He managed to make his way out to the garden for some fresh air. The rain had left off, but it was still cold. 

Not far from the French doors leading outside, Lewis found James talking to a woman who was dressed as a vampire. She laughed and touched James’s arm. James looked slightly pained. He’d never been good at responding to flirtations, not even when he liked the person doing the flirting. He held a bottle of beer in his hand, but Lewis could tell it was empty by the way James nervously played with it.

Lewis made his way towards them. He recalled another party at Laura’s house. He’d brought James with him, and they’d sat out in this very garden, tired of the party, enjoying the night air. He’d been fond of James even then, but he’d never in his wildest imaginings thought they’d be more than mates. 

Lewis stepped over to James’s side. The vampire woman took note of his presence, smiled at him, then continued what she’d been saying.

“It’s going to be a brilliant show. I’ll give you my number. Oh, wait, Sherlock Holmes doesn’t have a mobile!” She laughed. “Except the new one. He does.”

Irrationally, Lewis felt a surge of jealousy. If he’d been a woman, the vampire would have assumed they were together, or at least considered the possibility, but she was clearly still flirting with James. Lewis wasn’t one to air his private life, but this suddenly seemed like an injustice, one he wanted to correct. 

Lewis’s heart pounded at the thought of what he was about to do. Gently, he slid his hand under James’s cape and to the small of his back, lightly kissing his cheek at the same time. Their hats got in the way, but he got his point across. “I’ve been looking all over for you. No one knows who I am without you.”

James smiled fondly at him before turning to the vampire woman. “Nina, this is my partner, Robbie.” 

Ah, ‘partner’. He’d use that next time.

“Oh, I’m —” Nina smiled nervously. “Sorry. It was lovely meeting you.” She made a beeline for the house. 

“Thank you,” James said in Lewis’s ear, leading him towards the bench they’d sat on so many years ago. 

“Do you want to go inside? It’s cold,” Lewis complained.

James sat, pulling Lewis down with him. He kept their hands folded together. “In a minute.” 

There were a few other people in the garden, but it was comparatively quiet and empty. James took off the deerstalker cap. He surprised Lewis by removing his bowler and leaning in to kiss him. It wasn’t a quick peck, but a deep kiss. Relaxed from alcohol, Lewis didn’t stop him. 

Lewis had always disliked public displays — it was one of the ways he and Val had differed — and he suddenly remembered Val trying to kiss him in front of the station. If he’d known what was going to happen, he would have let her kiss him. There. Anywhere. But he’d thought he had forever.

James’s hand was working its way beneath Lewis’s jacket, which was pushing things a bit far. “Don’t get carried away.”

James seemed unaware that anyone else was nearby. “Let’s go home.”

“All right,” Lewis conceded, suddenly wanting to touch James, to lay him out in bed. 

They got up and headed towards the French doors. Just shy of the doors, James took hold of Lewis’s hand, stopping him in his tracks, and kissed him again. When they parted, Lewis dared to glance around. One couple were looking at them, but everyone else either hadn’t seen or didn’t care that two blokes had just been snogging right beside them.

“Or we could find a cupboard,” James suggested softly.

That didn’t deserve an answer. “I hope you’re sober enough to drive,” Lewis said.

*

James was not sober enough, and they walked home instead, James making his way through two cigarettes, staring up at the sky in a thoughtful mood. The air felt cold and clean, and a few leaves still littered the pavement, damped down with rain. Laura’s house wasn’t exactly close, but they made it back to the flat in under an hour, sober and stiff-limbed with cold by the time they arrived. 

The minute they were inside, James wrapped his arms round Lewis, leaning on him and walking him backward towards the sofa. They collapsed in a heap on the cushions, displacing a very grouchy cat.

Lewis grunted, adjusting his position, trying to toe his shoes off and rid himself of the stupid bowler. “At least let’s get these bloody costumes off.”

James sat up to yank at his shoes. “I like you in your costume.” He tossed the deerstalker cap away, then fell onto Lewis again, pinning him to the sofa. “Let’s keep them on.”

“Barmy, you are.”

They adjusted their limbs, kissing at the same time. The cape kept getting in the way of their groping hands, but James managed to undo Lewis’s flies and rub teasingly at his cock through the fabric of his boxers.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” James breathed, sucking a wet kiss onto Lewis’s collarbone. “I wanted you so much. You look fetching in this suit.”

Lewis could barely breathe. His cock ached for more contact. He tried to recall when they’d last made love. It had been a few days, at least. Longer than usual. Lewis had been so preoccupied he hadn’t even noticed how long it had been, hadn’t noticed how much James had wanted this, but he was willing to bet James had noticed, and that he’d been counting the days. No wonder he’d been clingy and tetchy. “Is this a thing for you, then? Costumes?” he managed. “Maybe choose different ones next time. This cape is going to be the death of me.”

James propped himself up on one elbow, violently shoving at the cape with his free hand. He managed to free it from his shoulders, and it fell to the floor. Bracing himself awkwardly, he kissed Lewis again, kissed him breathless. Then he said, “I like to imagine that even if we’d lived back then, we’d be doing this.”

Lewis was conscious of the moustache pulling uncomfortably at his lip. “Help me get this moustache off?” he asked, sliding his hands over James’s back. “I can’t kiss you properly with it on. And I know I’m not doing anything else unless it’s off first.”

“You mean you aren’t going to suck me off while wearing the moustache?” 

“I don’t think you’d want me to!”

They untangled themselves and got up clumsily.

James caressed the moustache. “Have you ever had a real one?”

“Bit scruffy in me youth, yeah. Long hair, too.”

“Really?”

“Not that long.”

“You don’t have any pictures,” James lamented. He’d already pawed through all the old albums, alternately wistful and entertained.

“Thank God for that. Now how do we get this thing off?”

“Cotton buds, I should think. And I bought some remover.”

“I need the loo first. And I need to get out of this bloody waistcoat!”

After they’d got rid of most of their costumes, Lewis stood in shirt and trousers while Hathaway sat his bum on the basin and patiently dabbed at the spirit gum until the moustache was gone. Lewis moved his mouth in relief. Then he washed his face with care, removing the last traces of the stuff. He could hear James moving about, putting things away and shutting the cupboard. Lewis dried off, emerging from the towel to find James watching him.

James laid a hand on Lewis’s shirt. “I want to take this off you.” His voice was rumbly. He leant in for a kiss, his tongue seeking, hands already working at the buttons of the shirt.

“I thought you liked the costume?”

“I like you any way I can have you,” James said.

They were standing right beside the cupboard, and Lewis recalled with sudden clarity the kit behind the towels — the red bulb with its black attachment — that he knew James used, sometimes in the shower, sometimes not, to clean himself out before they made love. Lewis felt embarrassed every time he saw it. Embarrassed and a bit guilty he’d not yet let James climb on top of him and have his way. He knew it was something James wanted, but he’d stopping asking, stopped hinting. Lewis supposed he’d given up on it ever happening. It wasn’t as though Lewis didn’t _want_ to do it, it was that he was afraid he wouldn’t like it. But it was stupid to keep anything from James, anything at all. 

Of late, curiosity had driven him to practise using the kit when James wasn’t home. If they were going to do it the other way round, Lewis was going to make sure it went right. Using the thing wasn’t as involved as he’d expected, not like a proper flushing out before a medical procedure. It took all of a minute.

James already had all the buttons of Lewis’s shirt undone, and Lewis could feel the bump of James’s hard-on pressing against him. He could feel his own response, the gallop of his heart. 

“Give me a minute?” Lewis said, guiding James out the door with a hand at the small of his back. 

James opened his mouth as if to say something, considering Lewis carefully.

Lewis could feel himself turning red. “I’ll be right there.” He shut the door, then leant against it for a minute, breathing. 

Right, then. He opened the cupboard. It was usually James in here, excusing himself, or sometimes not — Lewis suspected he was simply fastidious and always prepared. James would know what he was up to. 

He’d never thought he’d perform this kind of task for anything but medical purposes. But here he was. 

He filled the bulb with warm water, put a dab of lube on the nozzle, and then on his finger. He’d got used to fingers up his bum by now, and it was easy to touch himself, then insert the nozzle. When he was done, he felt no different physically, but his mind was slightly more at ease. He cleaned up, put everything away, and resolutely exited the bathroom, feeling like a nervous teenager again.

Only a single bedside lamp lit the bedroom. James was under the covers, bare-chested, reading a book. He looked up when Lewis came in, his expression soft and fond. He marked his place in the book, then set it aside. 

The flat suddenly seemed extremely quiet. A hush had fallen over the world. 

Lewis was carrying the tweed trousers, which he’d taken off. He hung them up in the wardrobe, then shed his shirt. In just his boxers, he came to bed, conscious of James watching his every move.

James drew back the covers, and Lewis climbed under, pleased by the warmth emanating from James contrasting with the coolness of the half of the bed he was occupying. James lay on his side, an unreadable expression on his face.

“What?”

“Are you all right?”

“Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” Lewis groused. It wasn’t as if he’d just been in a car chase or a shootout. 

“I love you,” James said.

Before Lewis had time to reply, he was being pinned to the bed by an octopus, tentacles surrounding him, James’s mouth latching onto his. Lewis slid his hands under the elastic of James’s boxers and grabbed handfuls of round bum, guiding James’s body, creating friction. Their cocks brushed softly against one another, separated by two layers of cotton. The touch made Lewis ache with want.

“I was thinking,” James murmured. 

When was James _not_ thinking? “About what?”

James shook his head and didn’t answer. He circled one of Lewis’s nipples with his thumb, caressing the short, dark hairs. He kissed where his thumb had been. His hands worked Lewis’s boxers over his hips and legs so he could nuzzle dark hair, waking cock. James shoved the duvet out of his way, and Lewis spread his legs to let James touch him, his body buzzing from the prolonged foreplay of that evening, James’s grabbiness and the desperation of his kisses.

Fingers pressed the sensitive spot behind his balls, and Lewis reached for his cock, jacking it slowly, bumping into James’s mouth. James licked Lewis’s finger, sucked lightly before leaving off and focussing his attention on the head of Lewis’s cock, circling it with his tongue, teasing the bit of foreskin that hadn’t retracted. Lewis closed his eyes and lost himself to it.

When he began to feel the slow burn and pull of approaching orgasm, he opened his eyes and laid a light hand on James’s head. “Come here.” 

James rose, and Lewis wrapped his arms round him and turned them onto their sides, kissed James’s wet, pink mouth, then rolled away to fumble for the lube. He could see, out of the corner of his eye, James’s movements as he took off his boxers. Lewis handed the bottle of lube to James, whose hands were eager and clumsy. Lewis felt suddenly shy, even though James had seen every part of him. He lay on his stomach, watching James clamber awkwardly over his body.

Strong hands squeezed his buttocks, massaged them, spread them. Lewis felt opened to view, and he turned his face to the pillow, breathing dark, close air. James ran a finger from the small of his back down to his balls, the touch light and teasing. Then a wet finger pressed into him and moved slowly in and out. The friction was unbearable. So much pleasure in a part he’d never given much thought to. He shifted so he could rub his cock against the sheet. He could hear James breathing. 

When James grabbed at his hips, Lewis let himself be guided onto his hands and knees. And then he let James open him up until he was panting with need. He heard the tear of the condom packet. He lifted his head and looked over his shoulder to watch James roll the condom on. 

“Do you want to stay like this?” James asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

“You’re the one who’s done it before.”

James smiled, looking away. “I like being able to see your face.”

Lewis adjusted his position, lying on his back. They gazed at each other for a moment. James pushed Lewis’s legs apart, climbed between them, and bent his knees up. 

“It might be easier —” James reached for one of the pillows. “Here.” He laid a hand on Lewis’s bum.

Lewis understood, and he lifted his hips to let James place the pillow under him. “I’m uneven.”

James laughed and reached for another pillow. Lewis raised up awkwardly to get the pillow under his back. 

Laid out on three pillows, and feeling lumpy, Lewis said, “I feel ridiculous. Like the Princess and the Pea.”

James stroked Lewis’s thigh, gazing down raptly. “You don’t look ridiculous.” 

If he’d had to judge by the expression on James’s face, Lewis wouldn’t have thought he looked ridiculous either. Before James, it had been a long time since anyone had looked at him that way. In truth, James might have been a bit ridiculous himself — his cock had gone half mast while they’d been grappling with the pillows, and the condom was slipping — but he was lovely, too. Lewis couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather look at.

James smiled crookedly at Lewis and let out a small, nervous laugh. He turned his attention to the condom, pulling it back up, then hovering over Lewis to kiss him. The room was so quiet that all their soft noises seemed loud, and everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as Lewis’s body began to thrum with arousal again. He could feel the tip of James’s cock prodding at him. He couldn’t breathe. He wanted. 

Lewis reached for James’s cock, and James, understanding, straightened up so that he could see. Lewis watched him slather on lube before positioning himself, raising one of Lewis’s legs up, and pressing in slowly. 

“Tell me,” James said.

“It’s —” Lewis’s breath caught. He swallowed. It hurt a bit. His body protested against the invasion. Had it hurt James this much? He’d probably practised with something beforehand, knowing him.

James withdrew. “We don’t have to.”

“Will you go on? I’m just not as limber as you are.” 

“That’s got nothing to do with it.” He caressed Lewis’s cock with dextrous fingers. 

As pleasure flooded him, Lewis felt the urge to return to the familiar, to suck James off, or to roll James onto his back or bring him up on his hands and knees, and to push inside him. Things he never imagined he’d love, he loved. He loved pressing his finger inside James until he whimpered. He loved the soft hardness of James’s cock and the musky smell of him. But he was here now, on the other side, looking up at James, surrendering to him.

Lewis’s body protested less when James tried again. But he felt full up. And strange. James began to move. 

“Is this how it felt for you?”

“Uncomfortable at first? Yeah. Do you want me to stop?”

Lewis shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

James moved again, a quick thrust, deeper. The movement forced all the breath out of Lewis’s lungs. His hand grabbed at the sheet but found nothing. He grabbed at James instead, then gave up on that, too. His eyes closed without thought as his body shut down everything but touch and sound. His hips moved of their own accord, meeting James halfway.

Awkwardly, James leant over Lewis, trying to kiss him. They shifted the position of their legs to allow closer contact. James’s thrusts were slow but forceful, and they made Lewis want to shout out at the same time as he was rendered wordless. Breathing was task enough. He felt as he felt when he was on the other side of things: as though he and James were two halves of one person, connecting, joining.

Lewis grasped his cock, haphazardly pulling at it, though it had gone a bit soft, and his hand kept colliding with James, who was brokenly chanting something in a low voice in-between messy kisses. Lewis neared the edge, strung so tight, he felt sure he’d break. And then he felt James relax in his arms, out of breath, slick with sweat. Lewis was conscious only of his own body and the orgasm careering through him.

When he came down from his high, James lay beside him, watching him. Lewis licked his lips, feeling like he’d run a marathon. 

“I’d say that went pretty well,” Lewis said.

James smiled at him, scooting close to kiss him tenderly. Then he turned over onto his back to take the condom off. Lewis lay only half on the pillows, and he shifted his body to get off them. He pushed the pillows out of the way and pulled the covers up. He and James lay cosy and enclosed. They kissed again, slow and comfortable. Lewis liked the feel of James’s mouth, sometimes liked kissing him for long minutes even if they were only watching telly, or when they were too tired for anything more.

“You surprised me,” James said.

“I’ve still got a few tricks up me sleeve.”

James laughed.

“You had a bee in your bonnet earlier. I thought I should do something.”

“It was a bee.” James looked thoughtful. “Do you know, until 1967, what we just did was illegal? Probably even after that. I don’t think the change in the law specifically addressed sodomy.”

Lewis remembered when the law had changed. He’d been about fifteen. He remembered his dad railing against it, saying queers were going to take over the country. Never thought the law would mean anything to him. He hadn’t cared one way or another. 

“In 1800, we could have been hanged. People lived in torment and fear, just because they loved who they loved. They hated themselves.” James’s voice quavered with emotion.

“Hush. We’re here now.” Too much thinking, his James, bearing guilt like it was the 1800s. He’d had to fight himself — and God — to end up in this bed. It must have been the costumes that had got him thinking. “You’re centuries old, you are,” Lewis said. “An old soul.”

James leant forward to kiss Lewis. “If we’d lived back then, do you think you would have risked it?”

“Are you asking if I’d break the law for you?” Lewis considered the matter. “In me younger days, I wouldn’t have done. But I would now. If I thought the law was wrong, yeah. But it might not have even occurred to me, would it? It barely occurred to me now.”

“I imagine I would have hated myself too much, and there wouldn’t have been anyone to tell me I shouldn’t. We’re lucky.”

“Yeah,” Lewis agreed. That was true in many ways. “But I’m not going to snog you in Sainsbury’s. I’ve got limits.” 

“I respect your limits, Sir.”

“Cheeky.” Lewis was too sleepy for this discussion. He yawned. The bed was comfortable, but he needed to get up. “You got lube all over me bum. I’m going to clean up.” Reluctantly, Lewis slid out of the warm bed.

“I thought it best to err on the side of caution,” James said.

“Good you did.” As Lewis padded to the bathroom, he heard Hathaway’s footsteps behind him. 

“Contacts,” James said by way of explanation when they both crowded in to the small space. He got his things out of the cabinet and began to remove his lenses. 

Lewis wiped the lube off himself with a flannel. He felt pleasantly sore. Now he understood what James meant when he said he could feel where Lewis had been. A shiver went through him just thinking about it, and his skin pebbled up. 

“I need a warm dressing gown. This business of walking round the flat naked is one thing in summer, but it’s bloody stupid in winter,” Lewis said.

“I’ll buy you one for Christmas,” James answered, closing the contacts’ case, “even though I prefer you naked.”

Lewis watched James put his contacts away and pick up his toothbrush. Lewis budged him aside so they could both stand in front of the basin. He ran the tap to wet his toothbrush, then he began brushing, eyes falling to James’s soft cock framed by golden hair, the head almost completely hidden by the foreskin. Lewis experienced an odd fondness for it. He’d liked having it inside him — he’d fretted for nothing.

James finished first, spitting in the basin and rinsing his mouth out. He moved away to dry his face and hands, then he appeared behind Lewis, pressing front to back, wrapping his arms round, resting his chin on Lewis’s shoulder. They both looked in the mirror. Lewis’s smile was hidden by his toothbrush. When he bent to spit out his toothpaste, James moved away, and by the time Lewis straightened up, he was alone in the room.

James was waiting for him in bed. Emmy, who had a sixth sense about bedtime, had come in, and she was kneading the duvet beside James. Lewis climbed in, moving Emmy slightly so he could be closer to James. James turned off the lamp, and, in the darkness, they kissed, sleepy. 

“I want you never to be lonely again,” James said. “Never. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Lewis read beyond the words. He understood. “I know,” he said. “I know.” He pulled James close, kissed him again and again until they grew clumsy and James drifted a bit to his side of the bed. 

“Goodnight,” James murmured.

“Goodnight.” Lewis kissed James’s shoulder, which was the only part within easy reach.

Lewis thought of Val, whose death had almost caused his own. He hadn’t even known how to be human for the longest time. And now he was again. It was going on ten years since she’d gone. She was present, even if absent. James had given some of her back to him, as strange as that sounded. James made him more like the person he’d been — happier, steadier. They were good for one another.

He thought back on James’s question. In the past, it would have been their job to go after gay men. Like the Bow Street Runners had done. In the past, they might have remained only friends. A year ago, Lewis would have thought he’d be satisfied with that, but now that he’d experienced this — this touching, this being close — he was grateful they’d both let go of some of their past days in order to have more on this day and the days to come. 

“I read that men who were close friends were buried together sometimes, centuries ago. I suppose we’ll never know what they were to each other,” Lewis said.

James didn’t answer.

He’d fallen asleep. But the flat wasn’t silent. Lewis could hear James breathing. He could hear Emmy’s purr announcing the steady grind of life, and somewhere, not far away, church bells began to ring.


End file.
